Encounter – Golden-bellied Gerygone

Golden-bellied Gerygone at Pranburi Forest Reserve, Thailand
Golden-bellied Gerygone at Pranburi Forest Reserve, Thailand

Mangrove forests are dense, thickly wooded places where sunlight filters through the matted canopy in tricky patterns. This, together with the inaccessibility of the habitat, conspires to make bird-watching very challenging. Mangroves are tidal wetlands. They stand in  shallow, murky, usually saline water that ebbs and flows with the tide. As the water retreats periodically, it leaves behind thick, muddy ooze that resembles quicksand in consistency and disposition. This is when most of the wildlife comes out to play. Fiddler crabs, lobsters, mudskippers and endemic birds are all best seen at this time. You can even listen for the ‘clicking’ of the shrimp. But then again, forget about getting in there, for mangrove trees have sharp, spiky stilt roots that can spear clean through your foot should you step on one.

In July 2014, I happened to visit Pranburi Forest Park near the city of Hua Hin. Most mangrove wetlands around the Gulf of Thailand have been drained and cleared for saltpans but Pranburi has escaped the axe because the Queen of Thailand took a fancy to it. Not only is it protected by law but made accessible, too. A robust wooden walkway runs for more than a kilometre around the park in a circuit that takes you from low, wooded mangrove shrubbery to tall trees that tower over your head and shut out the sun. The trees in this patch are packed densely and their stilt roots are about six feet off the ground. All around, interpretative signboards have been placed to describe the flora and fauna. Unfortunately, they are all in Thai, but it’s heartening to see that in a country where indiscriminate hunting has exterminated most of its biodiversity, there remains some scope for conservation.

In some places, the mangrove stilt roots stand at least six feet off the ground
In some places, the mangrove stilt roots stand at least six feet off the ground

The media tour group that I was part of was taken to Pranburi Forest Park for a bizarre “conservation” exercise, detailed in our itineraries by the intriguing legend: ‘Freeing the Crabs.’ When we got there, I was shown to baskets of mud crabs whose pincers had been bound by lengths of plastic wire. We were instructed to pick up the crabs gently and carefully snip off the binding wire using a pair of metal wire-cutters, after which we were to release them from buckets down a chute back into the mangrove forest. I found the whole thing quite revolting, and not least because I cannot handle crabs. I’ve handled creepier things.

Here’s the deal. First off, these were crabs that had been caught for the pot. In a forest reserve! So, that was condoned, all right. Then, having been found to be not fully grown — their pincers didn’t have enough meat on them — they were not needed immediately. Ergo, the charade of releasing them back so that they could be caught again when they were ready to be served up.

The ignominious business of 'freeing the crabs'
The ignominious business of ‘freeing the crabs’

I eat plenty of crab myself but I wasn’t going to be part of this inane exercise dubbed as a “conservation” measure. So, I wandered off from the group and took a walk, exploring the fascinating forest along the boardwalk.

It was here that I met the Golden-bellied Gerygone (Gerygone sulphurea).

The mangrove forest became thicker and denser towards the centre. The boardwalk had been constructed with great care, allowing trees in its path to grow right through the boards. The tide was low, and there was hardly any water beneath the bridge. We were close to the sea though we couldn’t hear it from here. It was a warm, muggy day and sweat trickled down the back of my shirt. As I went deeper, the trees grew taller. They towered high over my head and sheltered me from the blazing sun.

A section of the boardwalk through the mangrove forest
A section of the boardwalk through the mangrove forest

Birdwing butterflies and small birds flitted about in the dense foliage but they were mostly too difficult to identify. I had seen some of them over the previous days of my stay in Thailand, so I could recognise them in passing. There were flowerpeckers and sunbirds and the odd magpie-robin, mostly. There was one quick-moving, restless little bird that piqued my interest, though. It was about the size of a warbler and dull olive-grey on its back with a bright sulphur-yellow throat and belly. It had a small (but not short) bill that was metallic steel-grey. I wasn’t sure what to make of it. It wasn’t a sunbird or a flowerpecker. I followed it around the confusing latticework of the canopy and tried to take a few photographs, most of which turned out blurry and out of focus. I managed a single record shot that was clear enough to identify the bird (the picture at the top of this post). Back at the hotel, I was able to identify it as the Golden-bellied Gerygone.

The boardwalk ends at a creek that runs through the mangrove forest
The boardwalk ends at a creek that runs through the mangrove forest

Though a common bird in Southeast Asia — its range extends from tropical and subtropical mangrove forests and lowland forests in Thailand to Malaysia, Brunei, Singapore, Indonesia and the Philippines — the Golden-bellied Gerygone is also a most remarkable one. And there’s a reason for that. Most Gerygones, the family of birds known as peep-warblers that includes about 20 species, are confined to the New World and are distributed in Australia and New Guinea. Only one species, the Golden-bellied Gerygone, extends north or west of the Wallace Line (the imaginary line named after Alfred Russell Wallace to separate the ecozones of Asia and Australasia after the last Ice Age and the resulting faunal distribution on either side). The word Gerygone is derived from the Greek for ‘born of sound’ and nearly all of the birds have pleasant tinkling songs and some of them are known to be excellent mimics of other birds found in the area.

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It was the song, incidentally, that set this bird apart from the sunbirds and flowerpeckers in the mangrove woodland of Pranburi. A plaintive, soulful tinkle-warble that poured liquidly into the air. Not the trilling song of a flowerpecker or the merry descant chittering of the sunbird, but more like the fully formed, heavily annotated song of a Grey-headed Canary Flycatcher or a Tickell’s Blue Flycatcher that appears to leave the bird and stand alone in the air as a presence, an entity in itself.

All the while singing its heart out, the Golden-Bellied Gerygone flitted among the leaves as does a warbler or white-eye, gleaning insects and other prey too tiny for my befuddled eye to discern. And then, it melted away into the dappled patchwork of verdure and sunlight until all that remained of its presence was a song, half-heard and half-remembered.


God, Darwin, Ali and the Blue-capped Rock ThrushEncounter – The Black-and-Orange FlycatcherEncounter – The Spotted Forktail

Posted from Pak Nam Pran, Prachuap Khiri Khan, Thailand.

Encounter – The Crow-billed Drongo

Note the bill - like a crow's. The Crow-billed Drongo is glossy black with a broad tail, less forked than the Black Drongo's
Note the bill - like a crow's. The Crow-billed Drongo is glossy black with a broad tail, less forked than the Black Drongo's
Note the bill – like a crow’s. The Crow-billed Drongo is glossy black with a broad tail, less forked than the Black Drongo’s

At first glance, it’s a dead ringer for the Racket-tailed Drongo, but then it lacks the rackets in the tail feathers or the prominent crest. Another bird you might confuse it with is the Spangled Drongo, but the head and the absent hairlike crest are telltale.  The tail, somewhat like that of the Spangled Drongo’s, is not as finely twirled as in that species. If you spot the bird hidden in the canopy, foliage preventing you from getting a look at its tail, it appears very much like a small crow.

Hidden among the trees, a Crow-billed Drongo examines its world
Hidden among the trees, a Crow-billed Drongo examines its world
Out on a limb, this Crow-billed Drongo very much resembles its cousin, the Racket-tailed Drongo, but is yet different
Out on a limb, this Crow-billed Drongo very much resembles its cousin, the Racket-tailed Drongo, but is yet different

This is the Crow-billed Drongo (Dicrurus annectans) and the name explains its appearance. In habit, it behaves much like the other drongos we know. In India its distribution extends from lowland moist deciduous forests and mangrove forests in northeastern India. Besides India, it ranges all the way south to the Malay peninsula, encompassing Bangladesh, Bhutan, Brunei, Cambodia, China, Indonesia, Laos, Malaysia, Myanmar, Nepal, Philippines, Singapore, Thailand, and Vietnam. It is believed to breed in northeastern India and southern China.

I encountered the Crow-billed Drongo quite abundantly in the Dooars of northern Bengal in early April. It was frequently seen in mixed hunting flocks along with ioras, barbets, orioles and starlings. Often, I found it being mobbed or chased by jungle babblers and bulbuls. Most of the birds I saw were solitary, although non-intimate dispersed groups of three or four birds were also common. Young individuals appeared to sport whitish scale-like markings on the breast. The eyes appeared to be dark maroon.

The birds in the photographs were pictured at Jaldapara Wildlife Sanctuary in northern Bengal.


Encounter – The Asian Drongo-Cuckoo

On The Wing – The Racket-tailed Drongo

April Fooled – A Drongo’s Spot of Bother

Posted from Hasimara, West Bengal, India.

Encounter – Hoary-bellied Squirrel

The Hoary-bellied Squirrel occurs abundantly in the forests of the Dooars up to about 1500 m in the Himalaya

The Hoary-bellied Squirrel occurs abundantly in the forests of the Dooars up to about 1500 m in the Himalaya

At the crack of dawn I strolled to the balcony of my friend’s pad in the Hasimara Air Force Station (in the Dooars of northern Bengal), alerted by a great swinging and rustling in the branches of a gigantic bay tree. In the blue filmy light of daybreak, I only detected the shape of a squirrel, watching me watching it. I scuttled indoors for my binoculars and camera. When I returned, it was gone. I waited, and my patience paid off. Soon enough, the squirrel reappeared on the bough, pretending not to notice me as squirrels often do. Yet, all the while, even as its busy little maw worked away indefatigably at whatever it was noshing, the squirrel kept its eye on me. I drew a breath, relaxed a little, and peered at it with my field glasses. It was about one and a half times as large as the palm squirrels we have down south, but it differed in having a beautiful golden fawn coat, completely unmarked by stripes or spots. Among individuals, there appeared to be some variation — often in size and in the colour of the coats. The squirrels chased each other up and down the trees all day long, chattering loudly in a voice that did not flatter their appearance.

The Hoary-bellied Squirrel hails from a family of tree squirrels known as the Beautiful Squirrels
The Hoary-bellied Squirrel hails from a family of tree squirrels known as the Beautiful Squirrels

This, I came to learn, was the Hoary-bellied Squirrel (Callosciurus pygerythrus). It also answers to the name of Irrawaddy Squirrel, which gives us an idea of its range — northeastern India, Bangladesh, Nepal, Bhutan, China’s southern Yunnan region, and western and central Myanmar. The Hoary-bellied belongs to a family of squirrels known as the Beautiful Squirrels for their extremely alluring appearance. Despite the plainness of its coat, this species is quite handsome. It was observed in mid-canopies in gardens and plantations, as well as in forest in the wildlife reserves of Chilapata, Jaldapara and Buxa in the Dooars of northern Bengal. That said, its range is threatened by habitat loss due to tree felling and disturbance of forest areas. Unlike many other species, it reproduces only once a year with about three to four young in a litter.

Its calls are loud and it is easily spotted in the forests and gardens of the Dooars
Its calls are loud and it is easily spotted in the forests and gardens of the Dooars

A strange thing happened with the squirrels of Hasimara. For the first few days of my sojourn there in early April this year, they appeared to be abundant and everywhere. They rustled about in the treetops, chased each other along the hedgerows, and engaged in noisy bickering. One morning there was a heavy downpour. And that was the last I saw of the squirrels. They were not heard from again for the rest of my days there. What might have happened, I have no idea.

Love squirrels? Check out these posts on the Himalayan Marmot and the Indian Giant Squirrel

Posted from Hasimara, West Bengal, India.

Encounter – Anna’s Hummingbird

Anna's Hummingbird

A friend and I were ambling around a marsh near Point Reyes, CA, when we noticed a hummingbird perched on a branch. The body was green and it had a dark purple head. Since we didn’t have the birding guide at hand, we let it be and walked around. Later, we would identify it as Anna’s Hummingbird (Calypte anna).

A little ahead, we saw another hummingbird perched on a shorter bush. We walked towards it and it turned its head towards us. The head was a striking, deep pink that literally stopped my heart. But before we could get a good look it took off.

Pretty? Yeah. Striking?
Pretty? Yeah. Striking?Not so much!

Later, when we returned to the same spot, the plain-looking hummingbird was perched on the shorter bush. The other one was nowhere in sight, so we decided to approach this one for a closer look. As photographers always prefer a front-on light, we went around the bird to get into a favourable position with respect to light. As we moved, we noticed that the lores of the bird were now glowing iridescent pink. Wow! That was something we hadn’t seen, we remarked to each other. After getting a couple of shots through, we resumed our walk aiming to “get the angle right”.

The Anna's humming bird-  peripheral view. Not bad colors , eh?
Anna’s Hummingbird: A peripheral view

Then the hummingbird pointed its head towards us, and we finally got the plot. The deep pink-headed  hummingbird was not a different bird – it was the same bird we were seeing from all directions. When direct sunlight fell on its face, the feathers there glowed in a hard-hitting metallic pink-red.

There, he went there!
There, he went that-a-way, says the Anna’s Hummingbird

It was an encounter just shy of an epiphany. The most basic of photography lessons tell you the same thing over and over again – the angle and quality of light have a huge bearing on how good your subject looks. However, even the most masterful photographers would find this transformation effected by light nothing short of sheer magic!

Also read: Americana – A birding diary from the United States

Posted from Inverness, California, United States.

In Rainbows – The Mindanao Gum Tree

The Mindanao Gum Tree in Katong Park, Singapore

The eucalyptus, as we know, is an unwelcome guest in our part of the world. Most blue gum trees in the northern hemisphere are imports from Australia. They are enthusiastically employed by revenue forest departments to ‘afforest’ wastelands and wetlands, to drain swamps, and in social forestry projects of questionable value aimed at producing pulpwood.

I used to think our British masters were to blame for introducing it in India, but it emerges that the original culprit was a certain patriot. Yes, it was that great gardener, Tipu Sultan, who first planted eucalypt seeds that he received from Australia in Nandi Hills near Bangalore as early as 1790. Now, this cannot be very hard to dispute because the Tiger of Mysore was known to be an ardent collector of trees and seeds, and it was his zeal for silviculture that led to the flowering of his father’s vision: from a garden of red roses, Lal Bagh grew into a sylvan conservatory. And with Tipu’s fall, the garden passed into the hands of British masters in whose employ the visionary German gardener and botanist Gustav Hermann Krumbeigel presided over the curation of treasures Bangalore the Garden City enjoys, albeit in diminishing numbers, to this day.

The Mindanao Gum Tree in Katong Park, Singapore
The heritage Mindanao Gum Tree in Katong Park, Singapore

We digress. Back to our tree. Many years after Tipu had afforested the bald, rocky slopes of Nandi Hills with about 16 species of eucalyptus, the Australian invasive was introduced to the Nilgiris. Or the Neilgherries, as John Sullivan, the Collector of Coimbatore, identified it in 1819 before founding Ootacamund and inviting his countrymen to settle the hills. By 1843, regular plantations of various species of Eucalyptus were being raised in the hills, which were originally named for the bluish hue imparted by the periodic blooms of the violet Kurinji (Strobilanthes kunthiana). In years to come, ignorant and overzealous raconteurs gave currency to the myth that it was the invasive blue gum, planted over the downs and meadows of the Nilgiris, that lent its name to the hills.

Today, eucalyptus has wormed its way into our landscape and dug its roots in with great tenacity. So much so that there now exists a hybrid Eucalyptus cultivar indigenous to our parts. It is known as the Mysore Gum.

The Mindanao Gum Tree
The Mindanao Gum Tree, also known as the Rainbow Eucalyptus, is native to Papua New Guinea and the Philippines

With travel and reading, some of my hostility for the eucalyptus has been tempered somewhat. I began to admire them on a fleeting visit to Melbourne last year where I saw the trees at home in all their glory. And more recently, on a brief trip to Singapore last May, I met one species that inspired respect. This – the Mindanao Gum Tree (Eucalyptus deglupta) – is the only species of Eucalyptus native to the northern hemisphere. It occurs naturally in the forests of the island of Mindanao in the Philippines, as well as New Britain, New Guinea and the Indonesian islands of Sulawesi and Seram. It has also found fancy as an avenue tree and an arbour tree in parts of the world far removed from its native haunts, particularly Hawaii.

The Mindanao Gum Tree in Katong Park, Singapore
The variegated bark of the Mindanao Gum Tree in Katong Park, Singapore

Katong Park in Singapore stands on the site of Fort Tanjong Katong, an old sea-fort erected by the British to repel Japanese invasions. The fort served its purpose from 1879 to 1901 but it proved to be a strategic burden for many reasons and was sunk and buried by the British after World War I. Only one excavated bastion remains of the original structure, which stands in a small, landscaped park between Meyer Road and the East Coast Park. This garden preserves a single Rainbow Eucalyptus, registered locally as a heritage tree. Nearly all species of Eucalyptus are recognizable for the peeling bark on their trunks, but in the Mindanao Gum Tree, the patterns left behind are colorful and variegated. Overlapping layers of pink, green, red and violet are revealed as the bark ages and peels. The fresh green bark is exfoliated constantly, and so the tree always has a palette of colors to show off. In the moist, mulchy rainforest soil of tropical Singapore, this Mindanao Gum Tree has grown into a tall, robust and venerable citizen, which in this country is another word for an immigrant who has earned enough respect to be invited to stay.

Posted from Singapore.

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